Lovely
by shxrlocked
Summary: Just a little ebook of Hermione Granger and Tom Riddle one-shots, ranging from time travel to diary entries to many, many more because... Really... The teenage Tom Riddle can be quite lovely. a mostly OOC Tom and an obviously crazy Hermione. will post one one-shot every day
1. Lovely

She cannot believe it.

Still clutching the binding of the hideous diary in her left hand and the opening in her right, Hermione Granger braves a peek at her surroundings. She feels as though she has been lost at sea and the horcrux in her hand is her last hope. Her saviour. The one thing that will keep her afloat.

Oh, the _irony_.

Everything is... Is _familiar_. Normal. She is in the courtyard, and standing before her is the large, wooden entrance to Hogwarts. _Her _Hogwarts.

Only it is not her Hogwarts...

She is yet to believe it.

"Excuse me?"

Shoving the suspicious, broken horcrux in to her casual robes, Hermione turns to find the source of the voice that has just so obviously spoken out to her. When she sees just who the face-to-the-voice is she lets out a gasp. But not from fear... No... From shock. She has seen him in pictures, of course. Dumbledore ensured that she knew what he looked like before she did this...

But pictures did not prepare her for how... How _lovely_ he looks.

_Lovely?_ she scoffs at her choice of words. Mentally, of course.

But that is the only word that springs to mind. Yes, he may very well be acting – or he may not – but Tom Riddle does look lovely. Everything about him screams _lovely_. From the perfect black waves of his hair to his flawless complexion, his silvery eyes, his features, his figure... Even his school robes are warn to perfection, for crying out loud, and the only boy that Hermione has ever known to do that was Percy Weasley!

"Who are you, may I ask?" He asks, very politely. Hermione's cheeks turn pink under his inquisitive gaze. She does not know how to react to this _lovely_ Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort had been so callous; uncaring, relentless. Cold and indifferent.

But Tom Riddle, from what she can see right now, is curious, and young, and she is not sure that it _is_ just his looks that make him seem so... Human.

_Lovely. Human. _

Whatever next?

"Hermione," She replies quietly, finding her voice. "Hermione Granger."

He does not glare at her. He does not scream _mudblood_. He does not curse her, hex her or jinx her. She knows that he knows from her last name that she is a muggle born. No pure-blood families have the name _Granger_. He still looks at her in the exact same way. Hell, he even _smiles_.

Lord Voldemort smiling?

But this is not Lord Voldemort.

The realization knocks the breath from her lungs. She feels as though her past – or _future_, now – has been – _will be_ – a lie. How could this boy – this lovely, humane boy – become such a monster?

"Are you lost?" He asks; the silvery depths of his eyes look... Worried? Is he? Is he worried about her? _What_?

But he is worried. And it causes some form of comfort to rise within her. Back in 1998 she would have _never, ever_ felt anything like this... Like safety. Like he really is– well, maybe not the one thing that will keep her afloat, but _possibly_ the one thing that will get her on her feet in this familiar-but-unfamiliar Hogwarts of 1944.

And that is almost the same thing, really, isn't it?

"Yes," She nods, "And tired, too. And hungry."

He seems to frown for a moment, and then he nods once.

"Come with me. I'll take you inside."

"Ok... Thank you."

Thanking him.

The Dark Lord.

_Thanking him?_

She feels as though she has gone mad. That big part of herself that has hated Voldemort for _years_ is screaming at her, telling her to run now, to just _Avada Kedavra_ him and get it over with...

But he is not Lord Voldemort. Not yet, anyway. And he is lovely, really. And he seems as though he prizes school just as much as she does... And that gives her hope.

Maybe – just maybe – she won't have to kill him after all.

**_~ϟ~  
_**

_So, this was written purely because this pairing is such a guilty pleasure of mine, and I don't really have time for a full-on story for them just yet, so this (and the other) one shot(s) will have to suffice for now. I hope you'll enjoy reading them as much as I'll enjoy writing them. :)_

_~ Laura_


	2. Weakness

_This_ Hogwarts library is quite different from the one that she is used to.

But this is not something that saddens Hermione. Yes, it is unfamiliar, but only because there are so many books that she has never had the opportunity to read before – books that had become too worn to keep, or books that had been marked too hazardous or tempting for mischievous students to get their hands on. She is currently sat on one of the old cushions by the window overlooking the Great Lake, reading one of these books. It is a beautiful day. There is not a cloud in sight, and the lake is sparkling underneath the afternoon sun.

He had only decided to pop in for that Dark Arts book that had caught his eye last Tuesday, but then she distracted him from his search. That girl who he had found outside the castle... Hermione Granger. Was it really three months ago? Time has flown by since then.

He has seen her up here quite a lot, since that day, but he has not really spoken to her since. It is odd, really. She seems to spend all of her time in this room. Tom's thoughts become rather random as he begins to muse. If he did not know any better then he would say that she _lived_ in the library. Usually her honey curls fall in to her face as she reads, but not today. She has tied her hair up today, and he mentally notes that it looks better that way. Her hazel eyes are set on the words printed on the page. She looks content as she reads. Peaceful. Beautiful.

_What?_

Beautiful. Since when has _beautiful_ ever been a part of Tom Riddle's vocabulary? He sneers at his own ridiculousness and stalks away, setting his mind on the book and _only_ the book until they trail off elsewhere. When he has the book checked out of the library he heads straight for the door, deciding that it may be healthier to read elsewhere for a change. He doesn't want a repeat of his previous thoughts now, does he?

But his eyes involuntarily find her just as he pushes the exit door open. She is gazing out of the window, now, and the sunlight makes her look as though she is glowing.

And then his stomach gives a small flutter.

_What was THAT? _

Furious, Tom forces the library door open with such a force that it slams straight in to the stone wall, and two second year Hufflepuff girls let out startled shrieks at the sudden _thud_. One of the two swears that his silvery eyes have turned a light shade of red... He storms through the corridors, glaring resentfully at nothing in particular as he goes.

_I am not weak. I am Lord Voldemort. I have created a horcrux, and I am now on a mission to create more. I am the leader of the Death Eaters. We will take over, someday, and the world will bow down to our supremacy. My supremacy. I am not weak. I do not have a weakness. _

But then the image of Hermione under the sunlight re-enters his mind, and his stomach gives that wretched fluttering sensation again.

_Do I?_


	3. Beautiful

Note: _Italics = Hermione  
_**Bold = Tom**  
___**ϟ**___

Hermione has had the worst day _ever_.

First of all she woke up _an hour late_, and the lesson that she missed was _Potions with Snape, _so NOW she has a detention on Friday. THEN Draco Malfoy thought it would be a laugh to _incendio_ her _hour's_ worth of notes collected from her History of Magic lesson (so now she is going to have to ask Professor Binns to repeat that hour for her), and _THEN _a Bubotuber plant beside her exploded in Herbology, so she has spent the _rest of this God-awful day in the Infirmary with disgusting boils sprouting on her arms_!

She could bet on her _Hogwarts: a History_ book's life that _one more bad stroke of luck will cause her to EXPLODE!_

The Gryffindor sighs heavily and begins to turn the yellowed pages of a black, leather-covered diary with her fingers, enjoying the rough feeling of crisp, dried paper against her skin. With her back resting on the lumpy pillow of her hospital bed and a quill in her right hand, she immediately begins to write to _him_. If she doesn't then she will probably curse the next person to walk through the door.

_Hello, Tom_.

She waits for a moment, watching as her handwriting fades and then more fades in to view.

**Hello, Hermione. How was your day?**

_Awful_, she writes, _I slept in and I was given a detention for it, and then Malfoy decided to burn my notes from History of Magic, and THEN a Bubotuber plant exploded in Herbology and NOW I have these stupid boils on my arms. I am in the hospital wing. _

She huffs angrily.

**Ha ha! Aw, do not be too upset. We all have bad days sometimes – no one can lead a perfect life. I hope those boils heal soon, and what notes did Malfoy burn? I am sure that I could help you. History of Magic was never a favourite lesson of mine but I paid enough attention to get an O.**

_Tell me about it. Ugh, me too! They hurt and they make me look absolutely disgusting! Oh, you are a life saver – they were notes on t__he effect of wand legislation on the 18th century goblin riots. P.S, show off._

Finally, Hermione feels the ghost of a smile playing at her lips. See, this is why she loves Tom: she could be having the worst day in the entire world and he could still warm her up inside. She knows that this is wrong – that letting a horcrux attach to you emotionally can be dangerous – but she has not been possessed at all within this past year, so she must be doing _something_ right. Her hazel eyes remain glued to the page as she eagerly awaits Tom's reply.

**I will have no problem writing what I remember, although it could take some time. Give me half a day and I will have them prepared for you. Oh, and I know that I am a show off; it is a specialty of mine. If you are an almighty dark sorcerer then why not show off about it?**

Hermione rolls her eyes at that and goes to shut the book. It is a good job she knows that he is joking. But, before she can close it, one more sentence catches her eye.

**P.S. You could **_**never**_** look disgusting, even if your whole body was covered in boils. You are beautiful, Hermione, it is about time that you realized that.**

At that, a huge smile breaks out across her face, a blush colours her cheeks and, for a minute, she completely forgets about all of the bad luck that she has had today.

Tom Riddle has just called _her_ beautiful. All is well.


	4. Happy

She is so unlike everybody else.

Today is the day that Gryffindor and Slytherin finally lock horns in their Inter-house cup match, and the winning house will be finalized depending on the results. If Gryffindor win then they will take the cup home for themselves and vice versa. Not being that much of a Quidditch fan, Tom had decided to come to the Room of Requirement for some peace of mind... But it seems that he is not alone.

_Naturally_, the very being that has given him anything _but_ peace of mind is already here. It is as though she was waiting for him, beckoning his deepest, repressed desires to come forth. He goes to leave – he turns away from her – but she has already noticed his presence, and he will come across as a coward if he leaves now.

"Riddle," Hermione breathes, and it sounds so good coming from her... Who would have thought that he would _ever_ have enjoyed the sound of that filthy name he has inherited? He feels weak. Why are these emotions so hard to ignore? It is ridiculous. Lord Voldemort has never been so out of control... But, then again, he is not so sure that it is Lord Voldemort that feels these emotions... They could only really be felt by his humanity. By _Tom_.

"Granger," He replies coolly. Outwards, Tom gives off absolutely no signs that he is currently fighting the hardest internal battle that he has ever faced. Hermione's hazel eyes study him as he turns towards her once more. A small, amused smile plays at his lips. "I would have expected you to be at the-"

"Quidditch match?" She finishes his sentence for him. Annoyed at this, he gives her a stiff nod and she smirks, "I've never really been interested in Quidditch. Reading is much more entertaining... Wouldn't you agree?" She holds up the transfiguration book in her hands, and he is one-hundred percent sure that it is some form of mockery over the hostile treatment he receives from that lesson's teacher, Professor Dumbledore.

"I would," He says smoothly, not letting his anger get the better of him. This is something else that is beginning to irritate him – Hermione Granger makes him feel like some sort of... Of... Gah, he cannot even bring himself to _think _it, but if she makes him feel so... _Good_... Then how can she make him feel so bad, as well? It is almost as though she has destroyed his self control when it comes to all of his emotions. Well, emotions towards her, anyway.

"You should join me," She chirps, tucking some strands of her brown curls behind her ear before tossing the transfiguration book aside, "I have been meaning to ask about some Rune translations I didn't quite understand... _Oh_, don't give me that superior look! Just because you're top of the class..."

"Where are they?" He asks, and she immediately begins filing through the dozens of books surrounding the large bean bag that she is sat on. He watches her through scrutinizing silvery eyes as she pushes some books away from her, pulls a few closer and flicks through some others. Finally, she finds the one she is looking for. When she has it in her hands she looks up at him with a triumphant smile.

"Got it!" She beams, "Come on then, almighty rune translator."

He cannot help it. She does something to him... Something he is yet to understand, but something that makes him feel... _Happy_? Her teasing tone, her joking nature... He has watched it take place around him for years, but he has never stooped to such childish antics... Not until now. Not until _she_ came along. Smiling a very genuine smile, Tom settles down beside the eager Gryffindor and takes the book from her hand.

"Alright then; which pages are they on?"


	5. Mistakes

The reason for her tears right now is _absolutely ridiculous_.

When Hermione Granger agreed to that plan – to travelling back in to the past – she _knew_ what she had to do and what to expect. She knew that she would have to end Voldemort's little Death Eater meetings and put a stop to his evil ways before they could bloom in to something much more dangerous. She knew that he would try to stop her, too, and that he would most likely hate her for what she is. A muggle-born. A filthy little mudblood...

She never _imagined_ that she could have fallen in _love_ with him.

_Tom Riddle is not Voldemort_, her mind had argued. _Tom Riddle is just a boy who has never known love. He is just acting out against the world... And why shouldn't he? He has nothing else to live for..._

But, of course, that is not why she fell in love with him. Tom Riddle was perfection defined, if you look at his academic achievements. O's in every OWL and NEWT; a charismatic, attractive young man who could charm any faculty member or student with one of those rare smiles and dozens of compliments. He was so quiet, but his presence was always felt. Hermione remembers sitting beside him that time in the library and feeling as though a blanket of extraordinary magic was enclosed around just the two of them... They were completely cut off from the rest of the world, in her mind, as Tom translated those Runes for her...

He really knew how to make you feel as though you were fascinating. He always listened when you had something to say, he would help you when you asked and... And Hermione knows that it could have been an act, but she just wished... She _wishes_ that maybe it had been real. That he had actually felt something for her. That she had finally found someone that shared her mindset. It was completely illogical, considering that he went on to become what he is now, but love tends to make you irrational. _He is not Voldemort_, she had reminded herself feebly, _He is Tom_.

Her plan had failed, of course. Dumbledore had not considered that Hermione could have actually fallen for Tom – he had not paused to question what Tom's logic combined with his charm and handsome looks could do. He had merely presumed that Hermione would still hate him as she does Lord Voldemort... He felt very foolish about it after she had returned to the present. He knew from the second he had asked her if the deed had been done that he had sent the wrong person.

So here they stand. Dead bodies are scattered around them, Dumbledore has been buried by the Great Lake, parts of the castle are in complete ruins and Hermione is watching the snake-like man who was once the boy she fell in love with... And she feels as though every death surrounding her is her fault. If she had destroyed Tom back then, when she had the chance, then she would not be staring at the ashen face of her best friend right now. Harry is dead... It's all her fault.

And there Voldemort stands – remembering her – mocking her with a cruel smile. Of course, if Tom ever did feel anything for her those feelings would be dead and buried by now. Their time was fifty years in the past – he would have stopped looking for her, if he ever did in the first place. She had to return here after that argument. She knew that he was on to her... And she knew that he would not let his feelings get in the way of his reign as the Dark Lord.

So here Hermione stands after everything, remembering what they have lost. Remembering those times in the library, that unforgettable time after the Christmas feast, the laughs, the hope, the heartache, the anger, the adoration... And she cries. But not for the dead surrounding her. She will cry for them later. Right now she cries because she misses _him_. Because, for a fleeting moment, she actually believed that he had _something_ close to affection from her, and then one silly little argument had ruined _everything_.

And those terrifying, slitted eyes say it all. That she was foolish, that she should have realized that her pathetic excuse of a plan would never work... And in that moment she realizes that Lord Voldemort truly _is_ the epitome of evil; because she had given him the opportunity to love – the opening to choose the light over the dark – and he had refused.

And, as Harry makes another appearance, and she watches the hatred warp his already inhumane features, Hermione realizes that he will die for his mistakes... And, quite suddenly, she cannot find it in herself to care anymore.

_Tom Riddle is _not_ Lord Voldemort... Tom Riddle is not the man standing before us right now. Voldemort is merely the shell of the man Tom Riddle used to be..._

How sad.


End file.
